


don't touch the threads

by supermatique



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 02:50:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2796929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supermatique/pseuds/supermatique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all starts very surreptitiously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadowkira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowkira/gifts).



It all starts very surreptitiously. A shirt or two gone, here and there, sometimes a jacket that will disappear and then reappear a day or two later. 

Shaw doesn't think much of it at first. She's never been that careful with her clothes, anyway, and between running around from the subway to the department store and then around with Romeo... well, she's got her wardrobe pretty standardised these days. 

It's not until her jacket disappears one day that she actually pays attention. She remembers throwing it onto the couch last night... but this morning it's definitely nowhere to be found.

That jacket's her favourite. The lining is super warm, damn it, where the hell is it? Shaw replays the events of the night before, after knocking off work: she had sat down for a beer, and then Harold had called so she'd gone to the subway and she was definitely wearing it then because she'd dropped her keys on the pavement trying to put them in her pocket. And then Root had followed her home, drank the beer (it was long flat by then, disgusting) and then they'd had a good time but Root had left afterward and made some comment about getting cold—

Shaw growls to herself, so many things falling into place now. _Root._

-

“I don't understand why you're so upset, Sameen,” Root says, when Shaw confronts her the next time they catch a breather. They're on their way back to the subway, Reese and Shaw to review intel about their number and Root to god-knows-where this time. “You hardly wear them anyway.” 

“Yes I do.”

“I need them for my cover identities. You're so much classier than Bergdorf.”

Reese snickers from behind them. Shaw turns and glares at him. 

“Come on, Sameen,” Root continues. “They look so good on me.”

“You're not even my size.”

“Boyfriend style, isn't that what they're calling it these days?” Root smiles sweetly at Shaw. “Or should I say—”

“One more word and you won't have any kind of style to worry about,” Shaw growls.

“I'd love to debate the point but I really must run,” Root says, winking at Shaw. She grabs her helmet and gets on the bike that she's parked a block away. “See you soon, kids.”

-

Their number is a casino manager siphoning revenue away before it gets written into the books each day. The small-time mob affiliations don't help, either, Shaw thinks, as she and Reese get there just in the nick of time to stop Richard Bart from getting a bullet in the head.

A mob lackey with a bent nose gets a lucky punch in and Shaw retaliates by whipping the .45 out of his hand and shooting him in the kneecap with it. 

“The Px4,” Shaw says, admiring the handgun as Bent Nose crumples to the ground. “You boys shouldn't play with grown up toys.”

“Serial filed down,” Reese observes, punching out a third man and smashing a chair into his face to finish him off. “I think the department might have a nice firearms bust coming, Shaw.”

Shaw grunts in agreement. “I'm keeping this one, though.”

“You know,” Reese remarks off-handedly to Shaw, as he picks up their number by the bicep and hauls him out the door, “weren't you wearing that sweater last week?”

“What sweater?” 

“Root's sweater. Looked familiar. I couldn't place it until now.” There's something in Reese's tone, and the beginnings of a shit-eating grin on his face. Shaw narrows her eyes.

She frowns, playing Root back in her head, then scowls when she can't recall anything other than Root's motorcycle jacket.

“You know, we get paid to pay attention, Shaw,” Reese says, not bothering to hide the laughter in his voice now. “You should try it sometime.”

Shaw shakes her head and shoves her hands into her pockets so she doesn't punch him in the face. “Shut the fuck up.”

-

Root is hanging around outside the safe house after Shaw and Reese deposit Bart there. “Hello, children,” she says, eyes already on Shaw. “The Machine wants us to go on a field trip.”

Shaw strides up to her and pulls aside the lapel of Root's jacket, scrutinising the sweater Root's wearing underneath. Sure enough, it's one of hers, one that she hasn't worn for weeks. How did Reese even—

“Sameen,” Root gasps, acting scandalised. “We're in public!”

Shaw growls and shoves Root away. “Touch my things again and I will end you.”

“I was going to return it,” Root says, readjusting her jacket. “After all, with what I'm planning... let's just say we'll be very toasty indeed.”

“I'll call Finch and fill him in about Bart,” Reese interjects hurriedly, looking like he's about to throw up. 

Shaw rolls her eyes. “Don't have too much fun without me, Reese,” she says, putting on the spare helmet on the back of Root's motorcycle. “This better be good.”

“Don't worry, Sameen,” Root grins, clambering onto the bike. “I'll make it worth your while.”


	2. Chapter 2

Chicago has its fair share of hiccups, nothing they can't handle but perhaps a little more reckless than they both would've liked to be.

It's late by the time they get back, a lot later than Root had accounted for. (The pilot they'd dropped in on for the return leg had been... reluctant to co-operate.) Shaw's not impressed when they pull up outside her apartment, and she leaps off the motorcycle before Root's even shut the engine.

“Also, next time you want to get shot at,” she continues griping as she removes her helmet, “bring more ammo.”

Root shrugs. “I knew you could handle yourself.”

“It's not me I'm worried ab—” Shaw begins, then shuts her mouth with a snap. She huffs and thrusts the helmet at Root. “Just tell the Machine to be more careful next time.”

“The Machine is always looking out for us, Sam,” Root reminds her, “but She's touched to know you care.”

Shaw glares at her in farewell — it's Root's favourite look — and stalks up to her apartment. She's halfway up the steps when she turns and looks at Root expectantly. “Are you coming or what?”

Root smirks. “I thought you'd never ask.”

-

They never go to Root's place, because Root doesn't have a home. 

Root is okay with that. _She_ provides adequate food and shelter and other means for survival; everything else is a bonus. 

Root follows Shaw into the apartment, the same sparse, barely-lived in apartment the Machine gave her along with Sameen Gray, follows her straight into the bedroom where they immediately begin to strip. It's always been like this, almost like a business transaction. 

Root's only just gotten her boots and jacket off when Shaw, already well divested of clothing, steps closer, backing her up against the wall. Root wonders if she's going to get punched in the face, but Shaw just thumbs the hem of her sweater. 

“Your little field trip wasn't really worth my while,” she says, running a hand up the length of Root's arm, stopping achingly close to Root's throat, resting just above her collarbone. She tightens her grip, and Root feels a familiar thrill run through her. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

“How would you like me to make it up to you?”

“I can think of a couple things.” Shaw presses Root to the wall, presses their bodies flush against each other, and then suddenly steps back. She stares at Root, considering. 

“Strip,” she demands finally, quietly.

Root wiggles her butt. “I can do a little dance, too, if you want.”

“Shut up,” Shaw snaps, her jaw taut.

Root grins as she obliges, removing her pants and rest of her clothing. She stands before Shaw, naked, who narrows her eyes as if sizing Root up. Then, she picks her sweater up off the floor and hands it to Root. 

“Leave this on,” she says, and there's a gleam in her eyes that Root's seen before. It's almost always just before some of the most exciting sex of her life. 

The cotton is soft, well worn. Root rolls the sleeves up as Shaw catches her wrist and shoves her back against the wall. Root hits it with a thump and Shaw smirks wickedly as she traps Root's wrists on either side of her head. 

She lets go and kneels on the floor, runs her hands up Root's thighs. Then she goes over to the bedside table and opens the drawer, pulls out a couple of zip ties and a dildo. She raises an eyebrow at Root, running them tantalisingly over Root's stomach, and Root arches her hips at the thought.

“What do you say?” 

“Yes, please,” Root breathes. 

Shaw grins, putting on the harness first, then biting her lip as she moves up to secure Root's wrists to a metal light fitting they've eyed previously but have never put into action. “This is payback,” she says, putting emphasis on _payback_ as the ties sting delightfully.

“I love the way you think,” Root sighs, testing her bonds. She wiggles against Shaw a little bit. 

Shaw bats Root away as she puts the toy on, tightens the harness around her thighs. “Not yet.”

Root stares at Shaw. “I wanna wear it.”

Shaw scowls. “No.”

“Sameen,” Root whines.

“Root,” Shaw replies, mimicking Root's wheedling tone. She goes back to the drawer and fetches a small pot. Shaw slowly runs her hand up and down the shaft of the toy, liberally covering it with the lubricant, and it glistens. Root's mouth goes dry.

Shaw smirks, positioning herself. She cants her hips forward slightly, the tip of the toy nudging just against Root's entrance. Root strains to follow it, testing her bonds. Shaw reaches down and experimentally slips a finger into Root, grins when she feels how wet Root is already. They're both so ready for this — Shaw's pupils are blown, and the quiet of the room is filled with the sound of their breathing. Root feels herself growing wetter by the second, as Shaw settles between her legs.

Shaw enters her roughly, but with just enough care that the burn is still a hundred percent pleasure, and Root's breath catches in a moan. Shaw echoes it with one of her own. Root hasn't seen Shaw this... undone, before; Shaw is usually brusque, almost businesslike when they have sex. Whether or not they use the toy, or the blindfold or play choking games, there's a mechanicity to Shaw that makes Root wonder what she's removing herself from. 

But they don't do this nearly enough, Root thinks, as the ties against her wrist cut deep enough to form welts. She strains against them, hooks her ankle around Shaw's calf to try and pull her closer.

“Harder,” she gasps, as Shaw grunts, grabbing fistsful of the sweater as her fingers dig deep into Root's hips and back. “I need you to fuck me.”

“You forgot the magic word,” Shaw growls, even as she moves faster and deeper. Root feels Shaw grinding against the base of the harness, breath coming in quick, terse puffs. Wanting to feel Shaw even if she can't touch her, Root arches her body, gratified when she feels the heat between them intensify through the thin material of Shaw's sweater. It rubs, the friction rough against her skin, shooting straight to the burn between her legs. 

She moans, bucking her hips against Shaw's, the thrill of being so helpless driving her closer to the edge. “Please,” she manages between breaths, “I'm so close.” She bucks her hips against Shaw, desperate, and suddenly Shaw stiffens for a moment before seeming to melt against Root and the wall with a choked moan. 

Root laughs, startled. “Did you just—”

Shaw bites back a moan as she grinds out the aftershock. “I couldn't wait,” she says, burying her face in the crook of Root's neck. “I'm sorry.”

“You're not sorry.”

“Nope.” Shaw hums against Root's pulse point, biting down with the sharp points of her canines. “But I'll make it up to you.”

Root shivers when Shaw pulls out of her almost casually, definitely cruelly. She watches as Shaw stalks over to the table and fetches a hunting knife, watches the dildo glisten with her wetness and how the light catches on the edge of the blade as Shaw returns to her. 

Root swallows as Shaw trails the tip of the blade up her navel and past her breast, just flicking her nipple before tracing her jawline and across her cheek. Then the ties are cut with a simple flick of the wrist, and she is free.

Root relaxes her arms, daring to stroke the back of Shaw's thigh. It's rare that Shaw lets them do this; lets them just _be_ in the aftermath of what they do so often these days, and Root milks every moment of what she's able to get. When Shaw is lighter, less guarded, there's always a short moment where Root thinks that maybe surviving could be all right after all.

It's wishful thinking. But in the dark it seems so much safer somehow. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Shaw complains, and just like that, the moment's gone. 

“Just about what returning your jacket might be worth.”

Shaw's eyes brighten and she tests the knife's sharpness against her thumb. “Care to go again, then?” she asks, tracing Root's collarbone with the blade.

“Always,” Root replies. She turns them around, switching their positions as she reaches for the clasps on the harness. “But this time... I'm wearing it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was "stealing/wearing each others' clothes."


End file.
